


Desperately Seeking Charles

by ourgirlfriday



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Emotionally Constipated Erik, F/M, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Road Trip, magda deserves better, no one is good at feelings, no one uses their words, vaguely based on Pee Wee's big adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-01-13 02:46:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1209838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourgirlfriday/pseuds/ourgirlfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik knew something was wrong the moment he woke up.  It wasn’t just that he was alone, and more than a little hung over.  Something was off.  Charles would know, he thought, as he shuffled towards the bathroom to get ready for his wedding.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Charles was nowhere to be found, and it's only logical for Erik to find his best man before the ceremony.  No matter how long it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).



> Ike prompted this back in the heady days of late 2013. I've been trying to write it since, and finally have something to post! Hurrah!
> 
> Thanks to Roz for betaing!

As far as personal epiphanies go, Charles supposed they could occur at worst times than during the rehearsal dinner for his best friend’s wedding. It could have come during the wedding, he supposed. Or during his dissertation defense. Or during a game of football, Erik at his side, sweaty and gleaming, torso flexing, pert nipples peaked……

Where was he? Oh, right. Epiphanies. Charles would have preferred it to strike either before or after his best man’s speech, but one must play the hand one was dealt, after all. So it was that between “I’ve known Erik since we were in diapers,” and “in other words, we met last Tuesday,” he realized three things. One, he couldn’t, _really couldn’t_ keep pretending that he wasn’t in love with Erik; two, the stupid tiny hope he held out that Erik would fling himself into Charles’s manly arms shouting “Oh, my love, it has always been you, ravish me now, you exquisite specimen of man meat!” was never going to happen; and three, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand by Erik and watch the man he loved pledge his life to someone else. Not without doing something stupid, like trying to reenact the ending of _The Graduate_. 

With less success, of course. And, likely, more punching and groveling. 

Maybe not so similar, after all. 

It was fortunate that he’d practiced the speech so thoroughly. Hank had mocked him for his (obsession) attention to detail, but hey, he’d been able to keep on without skipping a beat. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Do-You-Really-Need-To-Practice-It’s-Three-In-The-Morning-And-Some-Of-Us-Need-To-Sleep. And, when he started talking about his and Erik’s high school dreams of taking a Great American Roadtrip, he knew what he was going to do. 

He’d fallen in love with his best friend during the planning of that trip, after all. It seemed fitting to lay his hopes to rest during its execution. 

A smattering of applause let him know he’d finished. Erik beamed at him from his seat at the head of the table, next to Magda. She smiled at him, wide and fond and he wished, not for the first time, that he could like her more. It wasn’t her fault that Erik couldn’t love him back, and if he had to see Erik with someone other than himself, he couldn’t have picked anyone better than Magda. 

Who was currently making her way towards him with a soft, knowing look. 

“Magda!” he cried bracingly as she pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations on the big day.” His voice didn’t waver. He knew it rang hollow nonetheless. 

“Thank you for being here,” she whispered. “It means a lot to him.” Charles swallowed, dry and painful, blinking back unwanted tears. 

“You take care of him,” he murmured against her neck. 

As other members of the wedding party swallowed her back into their fold, Charles made his way to the elevators. 

It didn’t take long, once he’d made his decision. Hank hadn’t returned from the party, yet, so Charles had the room to himself. Throwing some clothing in his extra dufflebag was the work of a moment. He packed the rest of his paltry belongings and set the suitcase on his bed along with enough cash to cover any bag fees for anyone kind enough to see his suitcase home. He scribbled a note to Hank explaining that he was leaving, and could Hank cover any best man duties while he was away? 

Erik’s letter took longer, even though in the end it was a few sentences scribbled out and rewritten several times. He slipped his phone out of his back pocket and left it on the notes before taking one last look around.

“That’s enough”, he mumbled to himself as he walked through the door and into his uncertain future.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Kage for looking this over! All mistakes are my fault.

Erik knew something was wrong the moment he woke up. It wasn’t just that he was alone, and more than a little hung over. Something was off. Charles would know, he thought, as he shuffled towards the bathroom to get ready for his wedding. Charles always knew. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling during his shower, even though the water helped to clear his head some. He wrapped a towel around his waist and grabbed his phone, sending a text to his stalwart best man. 

The faint sound of Charles’ text alert came from the other side of his door, followed closely by a panicked knock. 

“Good old Charles,” Erik called as he opened the door, grin ready for his pal. But instead of meeting mischievous blue eyes, he saw Hank, blanched and wild-eyed. McCoy didn’t wait for Erik to invite him in before he plowed into the messy hotel room. 

“Charles is gone,” Hank panted, running a hand through already ruffled hair. Erik tried to swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat as the bottom dropped out of his world. 

“Explain,” he croaked with a weak voice. Ideas and plans circled in his head, but he’d need more information before he could act. 

“He wasn’t there last night, and I just thought, you know…” Hank blushed and looked anywhere but at Erik. 

“That he was fucking someone?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it like that, but yes. But this morning I woke up and he was still gone and he left his phone and a letter and he said he’s gone.” Hank pressed a crumpled sheet of paper into Erik’s hands, and started pacing across Erik’s room. “I’m supposed to be best man now, he said. I don’t know how to be best man. Do I have to, to fight for you if marauders try to kidnap the bride? I don’t even know where the ceremony _is_!”

Erik hadn’t heard Hank’s fretting, absorbed as he was in Charles’ note. It was...unsatisfactory.

_~~Erik~~ ~~My Friend~~ ~~Darling~~ Erik,_

_I’m sorry. I can’t ~~do this~~ be here like you need me to. ~~I hope you forgive me for my cowardice~~ ~~my feelings~~ I hope you forgive me. I understand if you can’t. I will always ~~love you~~ ~~admire you~~ wish you and Magda well. Be happy._

_~~Love~~ ~~Your Friend~~ ~~Regards~~ ~~Best Regards~~ Affectionately_

_Charles_

Erik glowered, smoothing out the letter and nodding to himself before he grabbed his backpack and started shoving various items of clothing and provisions in it.

“What are you doing?” Hank shouted. He grabbed Erik by the arm but Erik shook him off easily and started for the door, backpack in hand.

“I’m going after Charles.”

“What? You’re getting married in two hours! You can’t go _now_.”

“And I _can’t_ do this without him.” Erik shouted, words forcing out without his consent. He rubbed his free hand over his face and sighed. “I need him here, and he knows that. So either Charles is in trouble and needs me, or he’s being a dick and I’m going to kick his ass and bring him home.” It was that simple, really. Erik didn’t understand why Hank seemed confused. 

“What am I supposed to tell Magda? You know, the _woman you’re marrying,_.” Hank’s cheeks were flushed and he looked like he rather wanted to throttle Erik with something unpleasant. 

“I don’t know,” Erik admitted before stepping towards the door again.

“You can’t go like that,” Hank said, sounding resigned. 

“I have to,” Erik said. Every moment he stayed was a moment that took Charles further away from him. 

“I mean, pants?” Hank tried, gesturing at the towel that was hanging threateningly low on Erik’s waist. “I get that I can’t stop you, but at least wear pants.”

“Right,” Erik said. He grabbed his lucky boxers and stepped into them, ignoring Hank’s irritated grunt and the slam of the door after Hank bolted. Jeans and a sweater soon followed, and in too short a time he stood ready to leave. He slipped his phone into his pocket and, after a moment, picked up Charles’s phone from where Hank had left it on his nightstand. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to the room. He wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to, but he was certain it would be warranted before too long. 

But that was enough stalling. He had a best man to find.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets his first break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great thanks to **kageillusionz** for looking this over. Remaining mistakes and issues are all on me.

Charles’s rental car was still in the parking lot, half empty coffee cups littering the front console and Charlesesque books scattered about the back seat. Erik hadn’t expected that Charles would take the rental -- Raven and Hank would need it to get back to the airport, and Charles would never leave his sister in the lurch.

Erik knew Charles well enough to know that trying the airport would be a wasted trip. No, if he knew Charles at all - and he thought he did - his first stop would be the used vehicle lot down the street. And if he was wrong, well, he’d be out less time than it would take to get to the airport.

His phone buzzed angrily as he jogged down the street, every vibration an accusation against him as a friend and as a lover, and he tried to push away the knowledge that he was going to hurt Magda - had already hurt her, badly. 

But Charles…

Thankfully he was saved from having to think about his reasoning by arriving at the car lot. It was small, and everything on the lot had seen better days. 

Much better days. 

“Hello,” he said to the one man in the office as he entered the shack at the end of the lot. “I’m wondering if you could help me.”

The man looked up disinterestedly. He was large - inexplicably large - with a shock of white hair and an eyepatch. From what Erik could see of his clothing, he seemed to be covered in unnecessary pouches. A plain sign hung on the wall on the far end of the shack informing Erik that he was at ~~Cable and~~ Deadpool and Cable’s Used Car Emporium. 

“I’m wondering if you’ve seen someone,” Erik continued. He pulled his phone out, dismissing the notification that he had one missed call (Magda) and one likely furious voicemail. It was the work of a moment to bring up a picture of Charles, eyes shining and face flushed from their recent camping trip. Charles had gotten a little too much sun, despite Erik’s reminders of the wonder of sunscreen, and his nose was slightly red. Still, it was a good picture.

The large man glanced at the phone before looking at Erik much more closely than he had before. 

“Why would you be looking for this someone,” the man asked softly. It was the type of softness Erik recognized; he’d heard it often enough in his voice before shit went down. Erik shifted slightly, gearing for a scuffle. 

“Hey, snuffleberry,” a voice called from a back room. Erik narrowed his eyes as another strangely dressed man bounded in the room. He was wearing red and black spandex and had two katanas strapped to his back, and seemed to share snuffleberry’s fondness of pouches.

Erik was beginning to have serious doubts about the business acumen of Deadpool and Cable’s Used Car Emporium. 

“Wade, we have company,” snuffleberry cautioned. The fellow called Wade didn’t seem to cotton on to the tension in the room as he ran over to the desk.

“So you need a new car? Motorcycle? Tank? Helicopter? We’re your guys, pal!” Erik cringed as the man - Wade, apparently, slung an arm around his shoulders and pushed him towards the door. “Oh, hey! Charlie boy’s in your phone! Hey, butterbuns, look!” Erik grabbed for his phone, how held hostage by Wade, who was pushing it into snuffleberry/butterbun’s face.

“I see that, Wade,” butterbuns ground out. 

“I was just asking your colleague -”

“Hey, Nate! He called you my colleague! I told you so, man. We’re in this till the end!”

“Um,” Erik continued, nonplussed. “I was just asking Nate if you’d happen to have seen Charlie recently.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wade said. “He was here last night. Nice kid. Traded me a watch for Bea.”

“Bea?” Nate and Erik deadpanned simultaneously. 

“Yep. I said I wouldn’t part with her for anything less than a pastrami sandwich, but the kid drove a hard bargain.”

“You mean the Vespa, right?” Nate asked. Erik was glad one of them did. 

“That’s what I said!” Wade answered. He pulled his phone from somewhere Erik didn’t want to examine too closely, but was certainly not one of the myriad of pouches. “See, here they are together, at the start of their journey. It was a beautiful moment, man.”

Erik leaned over against his better judgment and looked at the picture on Wade’s phone. His heart did an odd twist seeing Charles, in rumpled khakis and an ever-present cardigan, making a doofy face and giving the sign of the horns on a tiny sky blue scooter. 

“You sold a vespa for a watch,” Nate asked. Erik thought the man’s eyebrow was twitching worrisomely. 

“Hell yeah,” Wade shouted. “Look, man, you can see the gears and everything.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about losing out in the deal,” Erik murmured to Nate. “I was with him when he bought it. You’re covered. Have it appraised.”

Nate looked less annoyed at that, and met Erik’s eye in a nonthreatening way. 

“Wade, did this Charles say where he was going?” Nate prodded.

“Just that he was going west, on a road trip. And that he wanted to see the sights and take his time. And that he’d probably burnt all his bridges with family and friends. And that he’d never seen the series finale of _Golden Girls,_ so he might stop back here if he’s ever in the area and we’ll watch it together. Like a family.”

“Right.” Nate said. He looked to Erik again and shrugged.

“Thanks,” Erik called as he backed out of the shack, ignoring Wade and Nate’s spirited discussion. 

His phone buzzed again as he made his way back to the hotel parking lot. He thought he heard Hank’s voice near the entrance, but he didn’t investigate. His rental car was luckily out of sight of the doorways, and he tried to keep as low a profile as possible as he began his journey west.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik continues his search. Logan wishes he just kept driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to the lovely Kageillusionz for looking this over! Any remaining mistakes are my own. And disclaimer: I own nothing, except for a pretty neat pair of shoes. And those have seen better days. 
> 
> Also, a big apology for leaving this so long. Between work and moving and BB and the new movie, everything was crazy for a while. I will do better from here on out! *Hides under blankets*

The thing is, even if you know you’re on the right track when looking for someone or something, if you’re sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re in the right direction, it can be frustrating to have no confirmation. You _know_ you’re right. You know it. 

But what if….

Erik had to be on the right track. So what if he hadn’t heard word of Charles in the past two days? That meant nothing. There was no reason for his stomach to be twisting into knots or for his body to be breaking out in clammy sweat. 

Well, okay, so the fact that his car was, for all intents and purposes, quite dead, might be a bit of a reason. But Erik was pretty sure it was mostly the Charles thing. And perhaps the judgmental Voice Message icon on his phone and the notifications of missed calls and unread texts from everyone back at the hotel.

“Fuck,” he hissed at the smoking engine. The engine, predictably, didn’t respond, except to offer one weak death cough purely out of spite. However, Erik’s reverie was interrupted by a gruff voice calling over his shoulder.

“Need a hand?” A strange, hairy man sauntered over and poked around the engine. Erik would have been affronted except that he had no idea what he was doing, and all the time spent glaring at the engine was time he could spend glaring at Charles once he found the bastard. 

“I think it’s dead,” Erik hummed.

“No shit. What the fuck did you do, bub?” The man looked at Erik, squinting against the sun.

“I’m not quite sure I did anything. I think the car’s starting a revolution against the human oppressors,” Erik muttered before having an either very good or very awful thought. “I don’t suppose you’re going west?” Erik asked the stranger and oh god he was going to die looking for Charles. At least then the bastard would feel appropriately responsible for his untimely demise. 

“You’re just gonna leave this here?” The man gestured to the car. 

“I’m in a hurry,” Erik snapped. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Ain’t we all. Yeah, I’m heading west I don’t usually give rides, but what the hell. I’m feeling charitable.” The man seemed lost in memory. Erik fervently prayed that he wasn’t the talkative sort of reminiscer. 

“Great! Great. Let’s go,” Erik said, flabbergasted. The man looked at him before shrugging and turning back towards his truck.

“You coming or what?” Erik grabbed his backpack and followed the man to a semi painted in eye-searing blue and yellows. 

“Name’s Howlett,” the man offered as he swung into the cab. Erik pulled himself up and got settled.

“Lehnsherr,” he said with a grin. His phone chirped again - another missed call. Howlett looked askance at the noise and made a choking sound when he saw Erik’s phone.

“You know that shitlord?” Howlett snarled, pointing at Erik’s background picture (now a smiley solo shot of Charles from the day he defended his dissertation. They’d gone drinking and ended up passed out in the back of a burlesque review, both wearing rather risqué costumes. There were no pictures from that part of the evening, at least not that Erik was willing to share with Howlett).

“Yes, I do,” Erik said, voice low. He wasn’t sure why Howlett’s apparent dislike of Charles set him on edge, except for the fact that he was _Erik’s_ shitlord. 

“Well fuck me sideways,” Howlett mused. “It’s a small world.” 

“When did you see Charles?” Erik asked. He tried to sound uninterested, lest Howlett interfere with Plan Find Charles And Kick His Ass And Never Let Him Out Of Sight Again. Or PFCAKHAANLHOOSA, for short. 

“Two nights ago. Ran into him in a shit dive. He drank me under the table.” Howlett’s tone now seemed reverential, rather than irritated. Erik wanted to be grumpy at how easily Charles related to people, but it usually worked out for Erik in the end. He couldn’t be too angry now.

“Do you know where he was headed?” Erik pressed.

“So this is the guy you’re looking for? You could do worse, I guess. You could do better, of course, but you could do worse.”

“That’s not an answer,” Erik snapped. Howlett rolled his eyes and snapped his visor down. The visor was covered with a small collection of Polaroids, featuring a lovely dark woman with a white mohawk, a striking redhead, and, on top, a blurry photo of his Charles with a group of tough looking men in biking leathers. 

“He crashed the Morlock biker club, and wiped the floor with all of ‘em, your Charles did. I thought he was a goner, but he got the next round. I think they adopted him now. He was there when I last saw him, but he said they offered to let him join them, little blue Vespa and all.”

“But do you know where they’d be going?”

“The bikers were heading to Bismarck. I’m not sure if your buddy was planning on joining them, or following his original Great Road Trip to Get Over My Friend Erik plan.”

“What?” Erik asked, stomach dropping. It made no sense, but it made total sense. Which, when he put it like that, made absolutely no sense. But he could understand why Charles might leave now, even if Erik was determined to carry out PFCAKHAANLHOOSA, only with added hugs of friendship. 

“Your friend’s a talker, kid. I’d watch out for a group of angry bikers, they seemed affronted that he’d been so grievously hurt by your callous unfeeling heart.”

Erik felt his eyes sting, and looked out the window. “He never told me,” he muttered. Then, “I’m marrying Magda.”

“Listen, I don’t actually care,” Howlett replied, “but I’ll say two things anyway. Not being told’s not the same as not knowing. But your buddy Chuck is also responsible for himself, and that’s on him.”

“You’re saying this is my fault,” Erik said, anger rising.

“No, I’m saying you’re both idiots. Congratulations. Now stop the chatter or I’ll let you out here, and we’re still in Morlock territory.”

Erik huffed, but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Charles loved him, which was a shock but not, and he didn’t know how to fit that in with what he knew of his best friend. He didn’t take in the passing landscape, as monotonous as it was, nor did he pay attention to the state patrol cars zooming past the truck, lights flashing and sirens blaring. 

The funny thing is, when you’re looking for something, you might pass right by it, and never know.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Discovery is Made

Erik was rather unpleasantly pulled from his Charles-induced reverie by a loud crackling, followed by a patchy “ _Do you copy, Wolverine?_ ”

Howlett grunted and picked up a radio handset. “10-4, Sabertooth. Kick it in.” Erik stared at Howlett quizzically, but the other man ignored him.

“Letting you know about a break check ahead.”

“Good to know, good neighbor. There was a blue light special heading east a while back. Could be related?”

“Hell if I care,” the tinny voice grunted on the CB radio. “Over and out.”

Howlett grunted and returned the handset to the radio. Erik kept staring. 

“Well,” he asked after a long moment of Howlett ignoring him.

“Traffic,” was all Howlett said.

“Yes, of course. How silly of me to not understand.” Erik groused. 

“Hey, bub. Picking a fight with me won’t get you to your old man any faster.” Erik mouthed the words “old man” to himself, wondering how the hell his father fit in to this.

Howlett rolled his eyes and muttered something Erik was perfectly happy to not catch.

“Theres traffic ahead, possibly because of the cops heading the other direction awhile back. That clear enough?” Howlett snapped. 

“Yes, thank you,” Erik muttered as he turned back to the window. He could feel Howlett’s eyes on him but ignored it.

“You’ll find him,” Howlett finally said. “He’s all sappy and dumb over you, and if you’re willing to chase after him I guess you’re about the same. If nothing else, you’ll both go home eventually, and have a chance to pull your heads from your asses then.” 

Erik tried to take heart from Howlett’s words, but it didn’t shake the feeling of slimy eels in his stomach. What if Charles was hurt? Or stabbed by the biker gang? Or in an accident? What if Charles was, at this moment, in a hospital, bleeding, crying for Erik? 

“Are you crying?” Logan asked, incredulously. 

“No,” Erik said over his raw throat and runny nose. “You are.” 

Only Charles could make someone this stupid, he thought, as Howlett shook his head at the terrible, terrible response. 

“Listen, why don’t we pull over soon? There’s a diner ahead. It’s shitty, but they have a helluva cup of coffee.” 

“Fine by me,” Erik said. He’d rather keep going, but he felt Howlett’s patience was wearing thin as it was, and Erik’s stomach grumbled in irritation at being ignored for the better part of two days.

****  
Erik refused to admit that Logan was right. The diner’s coffee was tolerable, at best, and the only reason he had three cups was fatigue. And the waffles were only barely edible, despite the fact that he virtually inhaled them within five minutes of the plate being set down. He was eyeing the caramel rolls to go only out of pure masochism. Really.

The two of them ate and drank in silence at the counter, not speaking to each other or the wait-staff. If he didn’t have to hate it on principle for standing between himself and Charles, it could have been pleasant. He mindlessly watched the television set up in the corner, where a local anchor prattled on about the rising cost of beef. 

“In other news,” the man said in that grating way all news anchors had, “a fire broke out in the Springfield pet shop early this morning. Fire crews were able to put out the blaze, but not before a traveling hero made quite an impression! We’ll take you live at the scene with David Davidson.” The scene changed from the bland newsroom to outdoors, another chipper anchor standing in front of a burned out building. Fire fighters were visible in the background, packing up supplies. 

He hadn’t been paying much attention to what the anchor said, and barely noticed when the video feed cut to grainy footage, presumably shot by an onlooker. The building was on fire, and his breath caught when he saw a familiar figure run into the inferno. Erik stood, hoping to get a better view, because for a moment he thought the figure was--

“Holy mother’s ass” Erik mumbled as he stood, as if getting two feet closer to the screen would bring him closer to the man on the screen.

“Hey, bud, this is a family establishment,” Logan grumbled. Erik reached out and wrenched his head to look at the television. “Jesus fucking Christ on Ice. Is that--”

“Charles,” Erik breathed reverently. 

Television Charles had ran out of the burning building with arms full of kittens. He pushed them into the arms of an onlooker before running in again, bursting out moments later with arms full of puppies. He didn’t pause before running back again. And again, and again, each time carrying out more animals until he ran out covered in snakes. The footage cut out then, and irritating anchor # 2 filled up the screen again. 

“That was footage from a viewer from earlier today, showing an unknown man rescuing the critters from Havok’s Pet Shop off. No animals were injured during the rescue, although there is a report that beloved macaw, Darwin, has only been speaking with an English accent since the daring rescue. Back to you, Robert!”

“Where’s Havok’s Pet Shop?” Erik asked. 

“It’s about ten miles back,” Logan muttered. “That must have been what all the hubbub was about.

“Okay, so we’ll go back, yeah?” Erik replied. He threw a few bills on the counter and grabbed his backpack. 

“You do know I actually do have a job to do. With the driving and all, right?”

“Sure you do, Logan,” a stunning girl called from a corner booth. She raised an eyebrow and pushed her long dark hair behind an ear. A white stripe cut through, catching the light. “Take the guy to the shop. Call it an early birthday present.”

“That’d be the tenth birthday present this year,” Logan grumbled, but Erik was pleased to note that he gathered his few belongings. “Tell Jeannie I’ll be through later.”

“I’m sure she knows,” the girl called after them as they sauntered out into the sunshine.


End file.
